


The Doctor's Orders

by AmphigoricSymphony, DemonicSymphony



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, BDSM Scene, Bondage, Bottom John, Collars, Dom Sherlock, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Flogging, Impact Play, John is a Brat, M/M, Riding Crops, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Sub John, Top Sherlock, bratty John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 06:17:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2057043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmphigoricSymphony/pseuds/AmphigoricSymphony, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonicSymphony/pseuds/DemonicSymphony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John has an irritating day, Sherlock knows just how to treat it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Doctor's Orders

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deuxexmycroft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deuxexmycroft/gifts), [beltainefaerie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beltainefaerie/gifts).



> A short one-shot we thought you guys might enjoy while we took a break from heavy edits and sad in other things.
> 
> For Bel, for all her editing and listening to Symphony ranting and raving about everything and for the lovely deuxexmycroft whose art never fails to inspire.

By the time Sherlock pulled himself out of bed, the humidity in the shower was cool, the kettle almost cold, and John's plate, long bereft of any of the warmth his toast and beans had once held, was left squarely in the middle of Sherlock's work space. Sherlock snapped a picture of the plate with his mobile and sent it winging across London with the following words:

_In a hurry this morning, Pet?_

A smirk crossed his face, knowing full well the shivers of anticipation the text would send down John's spine. He could see him now, fingers tracing the small chain under his shirt. It still held dog tags. Most people assumed they still held John's army information; something he could just never give up. And indeed, one did hold useful information such as his blood type and his allergy to an odd anti-emetic, but the other simply read:

_SH_  
_221B BAKER ST_  
_IF FOUND_  
_PLEASE RETURN_  


Sherlock settled onto his stool after washing John's plate and sending another picture of the plate, drying in the draining rack by the sink. He hummed to himself as he waited for John to have a chance between patients to check his messages. It was a slow day, they'd solved a proper case, eaten, and then fallen into bed together where John had come apart beautifully under Sherlock. 

He'd ridden John while not allowing him to touch, slapping his hands every time John had dared bring his hands down from the headboard. Sherlock cleared his throat, bringing himself out of his reverie and back to his mould samples, a smile on his face.

\---

John set the towel aside, having just scrubbed his hands pink after a fairly infectious patient. He dropped into his chair with a long sigh, staring at his paperwork. A slow ache reminded him of his night before, which then tricked another memory. 

"Damn," John murmured as he pulled out his mobile, recalling that it had buzzed with texts while he was elbow-deep in an abscess. He thumbed open the messages, staring at the first. It took an absurdly long time for him to realize that he'd _left his plate_ on Sherlock's _workspace_. 

His heart thudded painfully against his ribs, only to fully trip over itself as he viewed the follow-up picture. 

He was done for. 

_Might have overslept it a bit._

He stared at the text for a moment and then grinned to himself, feeling a bit rebellious, leaving off the formal address. He grinned and set the mobile aside, setting into his charting for the day. 

\---  
Sherlock smiled as his phone chimed a delicate sweep of notes he, himself had recorded. He checked his mobile and clicked his tongue, tilting his head at the screen before abandoning his slides. A plea for attention then... His tongue slid along his lip and he grinned to himself as he walked into the bedroom. As he checked the chains attached to each of the posts, he fielded a text from Mycroft, then one from Lestrade.

When the call came from Lestrade five minutes later, he sat in the middle of the bed and pulled John's laptop to him. He put Lestrade on speaker.

 _pissoffmaster isn't very imaginative, John._ He thought to himself as he tapped away at the keyboard.

"Mm, oh? What? No, I'm logging onto your ridiculous server now, Lestrade." Sherlock asked as he realized he was being spoken to.

"John at work? Is that why you won't come in? That's what I asked." Greg responded in an exasperated tone.

"Yes, that too. This is hardly a four." Came the snapped reply as Sherlock perused the crime scene photos. 

"Hello?"

"It was the mother-in-law. She wanted the ring back. She stole it. Look at the footprints. She accidentally frightened the daughter-in-law who fell. She's in hospital because she went home and had a heart attack over it." Sherlock finally answered. "I'm busy, goodbye."

Sherlock rang off and texted John once more.

_Pick up Thai on your way home. It would seem your manners need some improvement. Piss off? No proper forms of address. Honestly, whatever am I to do with you, Pet?_

\---

John intentionally failed to return the text, going silent for the next few hours. When he arrived home, he had a box of Thai food, though he'd gotten Sherlock only his basic order and none of the fiddly little tweaks he always requested. Without announcing himself he walked in, dropped onto the sofa with his coat still on, and began to tuck into his meal without so much as seeking Sherlock out, cocky and self-assured as he happily popped a bit of chicken into his mouth. 

It wasn’t until the smell of food hit his nose that Sherlock realized John was home. He was bent over his microscope again. His stomach growled and he straightened, several loud cracks sounding, reminding him just how long he’d been sitting hunched over. Sherlock cleared his throat as he washed his hands before crossing into the sitting room and staring down at John. 

“Hello, John. Have you had a good day?”

John looked up at Sherlock with a cheeky grin, masking how his stomach flipped on itself. He hummed as he stabbed his fork back into the container, seeking out more chicken. "Busy and obnoxious, but I can't complain. You?" He was so bold as to drop his eyes away, openly turning his attention back down to his food. 

Sherlock sat beside John and plucked his own container from the table. He hummed as he took a bite and gazed at the contents. His lips brushed John's ear as he leaned in. "Obnoxious is an appropriate word for the day..." Sherlock bit hard, but briefly on the lobe of John's ear before sucking on it to soothe away the pain.

He leaned back and tucked into his food as though nothing had happened. "Solved a boring case for Lestrade. Never even left the flat."

Of course John would have picked a day to aggravate Sherlock when he was already bored to tears. A shiver ran up his spine as his ear tingled from the bite, watching Sherlock from the corner of his eye. He set his own food down not long after, uninterested in a full belly for the night. He stood and shrugged off his coat, hanging it by the door before going to his chair and slipping out of his shoes. 

Typically he asked Sherlock what he wanted for the night, but today he was feeling far more petulant than normal. He simply stood quietly, went to their room and fetched cotton trousers, and disappeared into the bathroom to have a shower. 

After eating as much as he wanted, Sherlock slipped into the bathroom. He shut the door with enough force to alert John to his presence, not wanting to actually frighten him. They played games, they danced, but Sherlock wanted no harm to come to John, that included triggering him into any sort of PTSD episodes by thinking himself under attack. His voice was gentle as he started stripping.

"You've been particularly cheeky today, my pet." He pulled off his socks last and stepped into the shower behind John, nosing along his neck as one hand gripped his hip firmly, just shy of pain. "Something you need?"

John hummed as Sherlock handled him, though he did not stop washing himself. "Just in a bit of a mood, I suppose," he said after a moment, though he couldn't help rolling his hips back teasingly, grinning to himself. 

Sherlock grinned and ran his hand down John's chest slowly as he nuzzled his neck. "Mm. I missed you while you were at work." He let his teeth graze along John's neck before biting down at the join of neck and shoulder, not quite enough pressure to cause pain, yet. Sherlock rolled his hips against John's before he released his skin. "Need pain tonight? Or something else?" He asked seriously.

John stilled under Sherlock's hands for a moment, tipping his head to the side and groaning as Sherlock pressed his teeth down into his skin. He was antsy, wound up in Sherlock’s arms. "No idea," he responded, voice open and honest and Sherlock realized compliance would likely come easy tonight. 

With a loud crack Sherlock brought his hand against John's arse, voice against John's ear. "You will finish your shower." He kneaded the flesh he'd slapped. "And you will dry off and join me on the bed. I want you face down. We'll start with the heavy collar and the flogger. I'm going to take you apart piece by piece and calm you." 

Sherlock's hand closed around John's throat, not cutting off his air, though he squeezed. "Do I make myself clear, Pet?"

John hissed, arching his back and pressing his throat to Sherlock's hand, greedy for Sherlock's attention. He nodded with a quiet, "Yes, Master."

Sherlock nuzzled along the back of John's head, closing his eyes. He raked his nails against John's arse, as he took slow, even breaths, enjoying John's response. "Finish quickly, Pet." He released him and slipped from the shower, wrapping the towel around himself and moving into the room to retrieve John's heavy collar and the flogger.

John was swift in the shower, following instruction as fast as he could, rinsing and drying. He no longer had interest in games, nearly salivating at the idea of getting in Sherlock's bed. He dried and went right in, settling himself down on his stomach, breathing tight and controlled despite how his heart was galloping. 

The sight of John stretched out across the eggplant sheets was stunning. Sherlock had carefully selected the shade to match the cardigan John wore that was almost see-through. His voice held a purr as he stroked his hand down John's back. "So obedient when you want to be." 

Long, skilled fingers wrapped the thick, heavy collar around John's neck, buckling it in place before stroking John's hair. "Vatican Cameos?" He asked in a soft tone. "Or do we need to use something different tonight?"

John shook his head. "Vatican Cameos will do," he said roughly, tone already shifting now that he had a collar about his neck. He began to fidget slightly, tracing a bit of the duvet with one finger, nearly holding his breath as he waited for Sherlock. 

Sherlock let out a hum of approval as he tenderly stroked John's hair. "Very well. I'm going to start with the flogger. No need to count, Pet. Not yet." He let his hand trail down John's back before he stepped away. Sherlock admired the heavy suede flogger as he pulled it from the dresser. Black and purple falls twined together in a combination Sherlock had picked out himself. The purple leather dyed to his specifications to match the sheets on the bed. The cool leather trailed down John's back before Sherlock brought it down with a heavy thud across his arse.

John jumped and then relaxed back down onto the bed, breathing tight and focused. He curled his fingers slightly on the bed, both settled and oddly angry as they began. He held still, waiting obediently for Sherlock to carry on. 

The lines of tension in John's body were easy to read. He needed taking apart. John was angry and jumbled. Sherlock would beat him and allow him to focus his anger on the beating. He set into a controlled, snapping rhythm with the heavy flogger, bringing it down with measured strokes across the backs of John's thighs, up his back and back down. Always he paid attention to where his blows landed, how heavily he allowed the leather to land on John's skin, seeking to bring pain but no damage.

John was eventually clutching the duvet in his fists, forehead down on the duvet, teeth grit and breathing far less controlled. Something in him snapped and he growled as he lost his mind, daring to reach behind him and suddenly grab the flogger by one of the falls. 

Sherlock stilled immediately and let the flogger go. He crawled up over John, nuzzling along his neck, voice low and gentle. "I need to know right now if I need to stop, if something in your mind is preventing you from safewording, or if you need me to push you, John. Something has you off tonight." He nipped at John's ear. "I rarely read you wrong, but the things I want to do to you if I am reading you correctly, leave no room for doubts."

John shook his head, tilting his neck to allow Sherlock to better reach him. "Push," he growled, grabbing Sherlock's wrist near his head and squeezing tight. 

The answering bite to John's neck was rough. It would bruise. Sherlock ground his hips against John's arse as he held on to John's skin, worrying it until he was satisfied and sat up enough to reach the cuffs attached to the chains on the bed. He extracted his wrist from John's grip, making short work of buckling John's wrists into the wide, padded cuffs. "That's better," he purred as he slipped from the bed and proceeded to do the same with John's ankles.

Sherlock took in a deep breath as he admired his handiwork. "John, John, have I told you how beautiful you look in my leather and chains?" He looked over the red marks the flogger had raised and adjusted his trousers.

John twisted his hands to grab the chains, grinding his teeth even as he grew hard against the bedding under him. "Might have mentioned it, yeah," he rumbled low, tugging at his ankles. 

A low chuckle sounded from Sherlock as he brought the crop down on John's arse without warning. The blow meant to sting without bringing much pain to start with. "Oh, Pet... none of that."

John groaned low in his chest, choosing his eyes and rolling his hips down against the bed. He dragged his forehead across the sheets in frustration, tightly gripping the chains.

Sherlock nodded to himself and set in to stripe John well. He landed blow after blow to John, carefully calculating how hard he was landing them, enough to raise welts and heat the flesh, but it wasn't until the last two crisscrossed blows that he intended bruises.

John's knuckles blanched on the chains he was holding, pacing his breath as pain wrapped around his body. He shifted against the restraints at the last two blows, knowing he'd carry them for days. 

With light brushes, Sherlock trailed his fingers over the marks, voice low. "You'll remember this when you sit. Remember that you are mine, won't you?"

John hissed at the feel of Sherlock's fingers against his heated flesh, nodding silently in response, biting off the urge to give some witty retort, wondering exactly what the hell was wrong with him. He flexed his hands, shifting restlessly again. 

Not enough. John needed pushing, needed shoving down into that space and Sherlock knew just what he needed to do. He drew away and got the plug John hated and loved at the same time. After slicking it up well, Sherlock started with one finger in John. "Relax, pet."

John jumped at first, and then with a mix of fear and want in the form of a groan, did his best to follow instructions, exhaling slowly even as he tried to look over his shoulder to anticipate what was coming. 

Sherlock took his time, gentle as he worked John open just enough... He withdrew his fingers and slowly pressed the tip of the plug against him. "Relax, pet. Just relax for me."

John let out a huff of protest before thumping his head to the mattress, shifting his legs before putting his focus to relaxing his body. 

Sherlock eased the plug into John over the next few minutes until it was fully seated and smiled as he wiggled it, enjoying the reactions it drew from John. "Perfect."

John exhaled slowly, doing his best to be still with that damned thing in him. He wriggled his hips in an effort to get Sherlock to move something, curling his toes in frustration. 

Sherlock picked up the flogger again. He started light before landing a nice blow where it would hit the plug, jolting it in John. A smirk crossed his face as he worked the flogger over him more. "Beautiful, look at you. You do so well like this for me, John. I adore you like this, bound and starting to bruise."

John shouted against the bed as he was struck, swiftly groaning for Sherlock as he shifted his legs, seeking friction. He let go of the chains, wanting to dig at the bedding instead, audibly panting through his teeth. 

"That's it, pet." Sherlock didn't care if John chased pleasure, this was about shaking him from whatever bad headspace he was in and sinking him down into the place Sherlock wanted him. Down where John could relax and be himself. He landed another blow to the plug.

John jerked forward again, dragging his forehead against the sheets as he slowly rutted against the bed, teeth clenched together as a hard shiver tore up his back and tingled across his scalp, leaving him in gooseflesh. 

Sherlock dropped the flogger in favor of his hand and brought it down on John's arse with a small groan of his own, kneading and cupping the flesh. "Beautiful," he murmured.

The feel of Sherlock's hand on him set John moaning, rocking back against Sherlock's hand in a brazen display of greed. He tugged at the chain on his wrist, wanting to touch him, a muffled, "please," rumbling up from his chest. 

"Soon," Sherlock promised as he brought his hand down again on John's arse before wiggling the plug. "How badly do you want it, Pet? Want me to let you loose? I was thinking about turning you over and fucking you... would you like that?"

John head dipped his back when he was struck again, struggling against the cuffs in want. "God yes," he growled, shuddering. 

Sherlock slapped John's arse several times in quick succession before leaning up and releasing his wrists. He reached down and did the same for his ankles, leaving the cuffs on him, letting the chains hit the floor. Sherlock's hand threaded in John's hair and pulled him up for a rough kiss.

John groaned into Sherlock's mouth, meeting him for the kiss and enthusiastically returning it. He made an effort to turn on his side, wanting more contact, more of Sherlock himself. 

A small smile crossed Sherlock's lips. There was his John. He eased John to his side and kissed him more, sliding his tongue along his lips. His hand slid down John's back, playing over welts until he got to the plug. Sherlock wiggled and pulled at it, wanting John's whimpers and moans.

Little clipped sounds of pleading groans fell from John's lips as he rolled his body, trying to get Sherlock to give him more. He reached out, catching Sherlock's wrist and holding tight. "Please," he breathed against the corner of Sherlock's mouth, licking along Sherlock's lips a moment later. 

Sherlock moaned against the licks and kissed John roughly, easing him to his back. He shifted so he was kneeling between John's legs. A glance up made sure the lube was within reach, condoms long ago forgone when they'd become exclusive and undergone months of repeated tests to ensure they were both clean. He dragged his teeth over John's bottom lip as he began working the plug out.

John wriggled under Sherlock, wanting to be closer, to rush him along in getting the damned thing out. "Please," he growled, clawing at Sherlock's back impatiently.

When the plug was tugged out, Sherlock tossed it to the towel beside the bed. He slicked himself up and slowly started to slide into John. "Fuck," he swore as he leaned in and kissed him again.

Oh, how John loved it when Sherlock swore. He went at him, overstepping in how aggressively he kissed Sherlock, wrapping a leg over his hip to draw him in deeper.

Sherlock bit John's lip in retaliation, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to remind John of his place. He immediately soothed it with his tongue. His hips rolled harshly as he pushed all the way in, fully seating himself.

John retreated with a muffled whimper, sucking in a sharp breath as Sherlock pushed into him. He went lax under Sherlock, allowing him control.

With tender kisses and nuzzles, Sherlock soothed John. He gazed down at him, checking on him before he moved.

John kissed Sherlock, pliant and malleable. He rolled his hips up with Sherlock, keeping as close as he could.

Sherlock started moving, rocking his hips, a slow, gentle rhythm as they lay there. He kissed John, keeping them pressed as close together as he could. Small kisses trailed down John's jaw until he got to his ear and he whispered to him in French, all the ways he loved him.

John moaned under his breath as Sherlock spoke to him in French, god how he loved that. He rolled his hips up before remembering himself, going still again with openly panting breaths.

Sherlock smiled against John, teeth dragging over his earlobe as he switched back to English for a moment to make his instructions clear. "You may move, Pet." He kissed his jaw before starting to move in earnest, driving into John. Once again Sherlock took up French, murmuring to John all the ways he pleased Sherlock.

John immediately began to match Sherlock's movements, rocking up against him. He slid his arms around Sherlock's neck and held on as tight as he could, listening to Sherlock's voice.

As he fucked John, Sherlock's breathing grew ragged, voice dropping and sounding rougher in John's ear. He nipped at his neck as he encouraged him. Nips growing sharper as his thrusts started getting harder. Sherlock moaned as he held tight to John, feeling himself growing closer.

A string of curses fell from John's lips as he held on tight, twisting his hips to get a better angle. He was starting to beg, arching up to meet Sherlock thrust for thrust.

Sherlock nipped him one last time before withdrawing completely and urging John to his hands and knees. With a hand between John's shoulders Sherlock eased John down to the bed so his arse was in the air and slid back into him, groaning at the sensation. "There we are, Pet... your favorite. So good for me, even when you try to misbehave."

John groaned as he pressed his face down to the blanket, hands fisting in the bedding as he thrust back against Sherlock.

A loud smack sounded as Sherlock brought his hand down on John's arse, relishing the way John moved beneath him. Sherlock groaned as he sped up, sliding his still stinging hand under John to stroke his cock.

John cried out and shuddered under Sherlock, wriggling his hips to encourage Sherlock further. He grabbed the loop of his own collar, pulling tight in an effort to get more contact.

Sherlock wrapped around John, thrusting into him. A hand braced by John's head, while the other stroked him in time with the fast thrusts Sherlock was using to work into John's body. "Close, Pet?" Sherlock had to grit his teeth to hold himself back, wanting to push John to orgasm first. "I want you to come apart for me, John." He murmured the sentiment in French as well, panting against John's neck, stretched across his back, still working him with his fist.

John came hard, shouting roughly against the bedding, his knuckles blanched with the force of his grip. He clenched down around Sherlock as he spilled over his hand.

With a strangled cry, Sherlock sank his teeth into John's shoulder. Sherlock's hips stuttered as he fought to ease John through his orgasm before he gave in and buried himself fully in John, gasping against him as he came.

John swore as Sherlock bit him, the sharpness of it driving him hard through his release. He shuddered as he felt Sherlock spill into him, groaning before nearly collapsing to the bedding.

Sherlock gasped as he caught himself before he pinned John beneath him. After a minute had passed Sherlock eased out of John and fell beside him. Sherlock wrapped his arm around John's waist and pulled him close. "I love you," he whispered.

John tucked in close, panting with a smile on his face. "Mm, you too," he said a bit breathless.

A smile lit up Sherlock's face as he reached up and pushed a bit of hair back from John's face. "Your hair is getting long," Sherlock murmured. "We should get it cut." His fingers trailed over John's jawline. "Better?" He questioned after they'd had a minute to catch their breath. 

John hummed his agreement, boneless and relaxed. "Much, " he replied, breathing in deep.

"Good." Sherlock murmured as he hooked the duvet with his foot and pulled it up over both of them. His hands stroked John's back in tender, gentle motions. "You were so good tonight. So wonderful." He kissed John's forehead. "Thank you... Do you need anything to eat or drink? You didn't eat much dinner..."

"I'm fine, I don't want to move," John whispered, already heavy with sleep. The irritation of the day had subsided with Sherlock's care, enabling him to settle down and calm. He shifted to rest his head on Sherlock's chest, listening to his heart.

Sherlock reached out and clicked off the lamp, leaving the room with only the light filtering in from the bathroom and London outside. He made sure John was tucked in and secure. "I have you." Sherlock whispered as he pressed a kiss to John's forehead. "Sleep, Pet. All is well." He hooked his leg over John's anchoring him. His eyes slid shut as he soaked in the warmth, content and happy with John by his side.


End file.
